Work Text:
I trudged through the mud and snow that covered the ground like a thick blanket. I had just a few moments. The others didn't know where I was going, but I just had to see him. I had heard the alarms go off and feared the worse.
I hid behind the wall of one of the camp buildings as a troop of American soldiers marched by. I peered around the wall to check if the way was clear, and then ran for the chain-link fence.
The climb over was painfully slow, as if my arms and legs were being weighed down with lead. When I got to the bottom on the other side I checked my watch. Force of habit I suppose, but I hadn't been gone from the clearing for at least a few minutes.
A quick sweep of the area and I immediately saw the hole. I rushed over quickly, but stopped in my tracks when he came into view.
His body lay bruised and torn on the cold earth that he adored so much- blood pooled around him; his leg looked broken; his messy brown hair that I constantly chastised him about was even messier and crusted with dirt and drying blood; his green shirt was ripped in several places; his glazed eyes moved slowly to take in my appearance.
"G-gregor…y?" he gasped. The effort it took to speak caused his whole body to convulse sickeningly. I gasped. He's still alive!
Suddenly he coughed violently, blood spurting over his pale, cracked lips. I kneeled down beside him and placed him gently in my lap. He was frighteningly cold to the touch I noticed. Tears began to pool in my eyes as I wiped his mouth.
"I-I guess y-you were right about th-those guard dogs, eh Chris…?" I choked out, my voice catching on his name. My body was shaking with the sobs I was trying to contain.
"Gr…eg…or…y…" he whispered my name this time, pausing between the syllables. I had always loved the way he said my name, because his accent made it sound so nice. I pressed my forehead against his and winced at the shudder that passed through him.
"What? Tell me what it is Chris." I was whispering along with him. Seeing him like this was tearing me apart. I couldn't open my eyes again once I closed them for fear of breaking down. He was so strong. He always inspired me, the way he kept going, no matter what happened.
"You… know… I-I've always… lo…" he grew quiet again. My heart nearly stopped beating. My eyes opened swiftly. Was he-?
He twitched under my grasp once more and shifted slightly, hissing when he moved his broken leg.
"L-loved you…"
With that he smiled painfully up at me and went limp. Tears began flowing down my face and I flung myself over his body, unable to breath and trembling violently. Trembling with misery, with despair, with horror.
I never wanted to move again. He had been with me through everything, absolutely everything. He meant the world and more to me and, as it turned out, I meant the exact same to him.
I finally stood up, although my legs seemed about ready to collapse at any moment. I picked up the discarded shovel that sat by the entrance of the hole. There were marks where his hands used to hold it. I placed my own over the worn marks and looked down at him again.
Now he looked so peaceful, so unlike himself- it was wrong. I dug the spade into the dirt a little ways away from him, looking back every few minutes, hoping against hope that I'd see Christophe sitting up, grinning fiercely at me and my silliness, cigarette clamped between his teeth.
He never did. Even as I lowered his body into the hole I expected him to open his eyes and glare at me, asking me why I was dumping dirt on him. My world seemed surreal and at the same time, absolutely worthless.
I went back later with the flag- I planned to mark the grave. I started to cry again when I got close enough. I could feel the sadness seeping from the place where I'd buried him. The flowers and green grass only seemed to mock me. How could anything be beautiful after what happened?
When I got to the clearing where his grave was, the shovel was gone. I started to panic. I'd placed it on top of the dirt so I could find it again, but it was nowhere to be found. The flag dropped from my hands while I spun in a circle. Where was it?
Then a sight I never thought I'd ever see again flooded my vision.
Christophe was alive, picking the petals off a flower and smoking a cigarette, leaning up against the removed shovel. He smiled when he saw me, then cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow.
"Gregory, you are as white as a sheet!" he cried, throwing the flower aside and getting up.
I fell to my knees and he swore. "Shit, Gregory!" Christophe ran to my side and lifted me up, placing one of my arms over his shoulder. He brought me over to the shovel and sat me down.
"But-you-how?" I spluttered. He snapped his fingers in front of my face.
"'How did I do what?" he asked. His eyes suddenly grew wide. "Stop breezing so hard!"
I didn't even realize I had been hyperventilating until he mentioned it. I forced my heart to slow down and my lungs to calm.
"You died…"
"Come again? You're mumbling." Christophe tilted his head to look at me.
"You died."
He laughed loudly, and then noticed the look on my face. His laughs grew more nervous. "No… what? T-that's impossible…" He was nothing but serious now.
I nodded, and the tears began to flow again. "I'm just dreaming," I said. Then I started laughing uncontrollably. Soon I was rolling on the ground, the beautiful blue sky above, cloudless, the heady scent of the flowers surrounding me.
I could care less if it was a dream. If it was I never, ever wanted to wake up. Christophe was alive and well, that was all that mattered to me. I reached over for Christophe's hand and pulled him down so he was lying beside me.
He landed with a small grunt then looked over at my bright smile and started to giggle too. He kept his hand in mine and we just stayed there for a while, watching the birds and the trees sway in the faint breeze. It was a wonderful moment.
"You aren't dreaming, Gregory," he said. I looked over at him. "Tell me, how did I die?"
The soft words snapped me back out of the fantastic euphoria. "Do you not remember? You were quite a sight to see, I must say. Also…"
I turned to face him. He nodded for me to go on.
"You told me you loved me. Then you died in my arms."
His hand pressed harder in mine. I noticed his eyes started to shine. "Are you going to cry?" I asked incredulously. He nodded, looking up at me with those sad eyes.
"I always have. Only recently did I realize what it really was," he sniffed, his brown eyes getting even more watery.
I rolled over so that I was lying on top of him. Christophe looked at me in surprise, and the movement caused some of the tears to spill down his cheeks. I wiped them away.
"Please stop crying. You're alive, we should be happy!" I said, .
"Gregory, thank you. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me." He smiled up at me, his expression relieved.
I leaned down and hugged him tightly, and then propped myself up on my elbows. The position left my face only a few inches from his. I paused for a moment before speaking.
"When you died, i-it felt as though I'd forgotten how to breathe. I kept expecting you to burst back to life, laughing at my stupidity. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me."
I said it so fast, it almost sounded like I'd said it in one sentence. Christophe widened his eyes at me. "So you mean…"
"I love you too."
He stared at me for a moment or two, eyes flicking back and forth as if he were trying to see if I was lying. I shook my head and leaned in slowly.
The kiss was sweet, and as innocent as how we felt for each other. It was absolutely perfect, and remained one of the most wonderful moments of my life.
In that moment we were both unaware of the world and what was going on around us. In that field, we lied together completely immersed in each other. Every thing we had ever wanted to say to each other came out in a rush.
I looked up at the sky and closed my eyes. If there was something I figured out that day it was this:
Life without Christophe was colourless. Why did it take something so heartbreaking to make my heart whole?